It's hard to feel sorry for Roger Clemens because it appears his own decisions carried him down this sorry road.

Whether he was guided by arrogance or greed is irrelevant. Now the only real drama is whether one of the most compelling pro athletes of the last century will end up in prison.

I wonder if, in those hours when he's alone with his thoughts, he's filled with regret. Did Clemens fail to understand how much we wanted to forgive him? If only he'd allowed us. If only he'd asked. If only he'd shown an ounce of contrition.

What's so sad is that he's probably never going to be remembered for his true greatness and his charitable heart. Instead, he's likely to be remembered as a liar and a cheat. Even an acquittal won't get his good name back. There's too much doubt.

He lost far more than simply his reputation, although that's enough. Along the way, Clemens made decisions that allowed his sordid personal life to be exposed, almost certainly hurting family members in ways we'll probably never fully understand.

There was so much there to admire, so much that made him one of those professional athletes every other could be measured against. He wasn't great just because he was blessed with astonishing skills. What made Clemens different were raging competitive fires that drove him relentlessly to care more than others, to work harder.

Sadly, he's going to be painted with the broad brush that comes with being accused of using steroids and, now, with being indicted on perjury charges.

By the time Clemens joined the Astros in 2004, he understood his place in the game. He did small, thoughtful things for the people who washed his uniforms and typed up his news releases. He became a great baseball ambassador. On his minor league assign-ments, it wasn't unusual for him to hold clinics for young players, to help them with weight lifting, mechanics, you name it.

There's a room behind the home dugout at Minute Maid Park, and Clemens used to go there between innings and gather himself. Teammates would hear him screaming at himself, at umpires, at anyone who happened by. That room was nicknamed the "Rocket Hole" by Lance Berkman.

Intimidating presence

Clemens was a bundle of nerves and anger on the mound. To say opposing hitters feared him is an understatement.

"It's how much he cared," Jeff Bagwell said. "He's out there so focused on winning the game that you're on your toes a little more than usual. You don't want to be the guy that lets him down."

One day in the clubhouse before a game, Berkman was carrying on about how Clemens had complained about a pitch three inches off the plate.

"He glared at the umpire for about a minute," Berkman said, "and then he throws a pitch a foot outside. The umpire is so scared he called it a strike."

Clemens wasn't in the clubhouse when Berkman told that story, and a lot of teammates laughed.

"Listen," Jose Vizcaino told me later that day. "If you use that story, make sure you say it was Lance Berkman who said that about Roger. I don't want to make him mad."

Clemens once bought clubhouse equipment for a minor league team he was pitching for, and he would stay late into the night, signing autograph after autograph for fans. One time, I was in a visiting minor league clubhouse when Clemens came in to check on a kid he'd hit with a pitch.

"You OK?" he asked.

He and the guy got to talking, and the next thing you know, Clemens agreed to come back the next day and talk baseball with those young guys. They were spellbound.

This part of the story will barely be a footnote. Apparently, Clemens now will be remembered only as a guy who broke the rules.

Rules apply to him, too

On the day the Mitchell Report was released, Cle-mens had the option of taking the Andy Pettitte strategy. That is, fess up and apologize. He would have found most people would have forgiven him instantly. He couldn't do it. He didn't believe he was ever wrong.

When someone has had his shoes kissed every time he walks in a room, something terrible can happen to his value system. Clemens believed he chose the rules, and he got caught up in a criminal case, failing to understand that these were no longer his rules. He thought he was still trying to coax a call out of an umpire or that he was staring down a pesky sportswriter after a tough question. He allowed his judgment and ambition to get all screwed up.

And let's not soften the blow: To use steroids is to break the law. It's to cheat the game you profess to love.

Clemens simply didn't believe anyone would dare tell him no. Hundreds of players did the same thing between around 1998 and 2003, and those who confessed and asked for forgiveness have gone on about their lives. Clemens instead chose a path that has taken him to this sorry point. I imagine he'll continue the fight, even though there appears to be significant evidence that he did indeed commit perjury.

I don't know why he apparently decided to use steroids in the first place. I'm guessing he saw his career fading away and saw a substance that would allow him to pitch another decade or so. Several Hall of Famers have said they might have done the same thing if given the options Clemens had.

Regardless, Clemens chose a path that has cost him dearly. He has no one to blame but himself.